


Satellite

by FrozenBrownie



Category: Marvel Cinematic Universe, The Avengers (Marvel Movies)
Genre: Gen, Hurt Peter Parker, Hurt/Comfort, Irondad, Protective Peter Parker, Tony Stark Has A Heart, Tony is Peter's Bio Dad, Whump, dad tony stark, spiderson
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-05-01
Updated: 2019-05-01
Packaged: 2020-02-10 21:45:21
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,971
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18668980
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/FrozenBrownie/pseuds/FrozenBrownie
Summary: Peter really hadn't planned for it to go like this. Meeting the Avengers should have been a grown-up, standing ordeal with a shouting match or two because dammit, his Dad had gotten hurt by the hands of these people. To get a first glimpse at their astonished faces while bleeding onto the living room carpet wasn't how this day should have gone.Or: Peter Parker gets shot, almost punches Steve Rogers in the face and Tony might be as proud as he's concerned.





	Satellite

**Author's Note:**

> Hey folks, this is some unashamed Iron Dad fluff and certainly nothing new under the sun, but my hand slipped while on the train. Come scream at the MCU and Fantastic Beasts with me on [tumblr](https://dreamingbrownie.tumblr.com)

He really had not planned for it to go like this. What seemed like a mediocre car thief first turned into a whole gang of organized crime and by the time Peter thought of calling Tony because yeah, he'd gotten himself into trouble big time, he was too busy dodging bullets for coherent sentences.  
„I highly advise for you to get somewhere safe and call the authorities,“ Karen said for the fifth time already, but this time, a bullet that grazed his left leg just above the ankle drove her point home. So for the first time since this whole disaster had started a few years ago, Peter relented.  
„Yeah, okay, do whatever you have to do, just - don't call Dad, okay? He doesn't have time for a bunch of dumbasses with a garage full of Lamborginis and Ferraris. Isn't that big meeting scheduled today?“ He was talking too fast too much in short time while swinging from ceiling to wall to window and out, _out out out_ into the fresh autumn air. Just that Peter couldn't breathe with his mask on, it was too much and _fuck this hurt so badly_. He needed to get home, and fast. Loosing that much blood through a wound so small should have been impossible.  
„Mister Stark has programmed me to alert him or Friday, should he be unavailable, if your vitals dropped below standard. He indeed has an important meeting today, but my records show that he would drop anything at a moment's notice for you.“  
„Just – dammit Karen, I'm so close to Manhattan anyway, it's no big deal, alright? Just a flesh wound that hurts like a bitch - don't tell Dad I said that – so I could really use your advice here. What do I do? Nobody needs radioactive spiderhuman blood all over New York.“  
  
Landing on a roof top made his stomach roll with the pain that shot all the way to his hairline, his senses were going completely haywire to the point where the cars down below made his head ache as if he'd had too much alcohol the night before. Thing was, he hadn't. Too busy doing his maths homework and that assignment he should have handed in a week ago. Fine, maybe his reflexes weren't up to snuff anymore with that much sleep deprivation. But then, Dad did it all the time without anyone noticing except Peter, usually, or Pepper or Rhodes. He could do this.  
„Find something to constrict the blood flow above the wound,“ Karen told him much too gently for an AI. Peter pulled in a deep breath, trying to ignore the sinking disappointment of having gotten his ass handed back to himself by a bunch or car smugglers.  
„Right. I can do that. Fabric. Where have I left my rucksack? Shit, it's still in that alleyway at school, isn't it?“  
„Yes, Peter, I'm afraid so. Shall I alert Friday after all?“  
He sighed, deeply, and put his head between his knees. The blood loss was making him light-headed, he knew the symptoms, this wasn't the first time and neither would it be the last. But Tony was still stuck in some terribly important meeting that he'd look bad for disappearing out of.  
„Fine. Yes, please, just – get me out of here. Dunno if I'd make it home without throwing up. God, I'm dizzy.“  
„Your blood pressure is dropping and your pulse too high. Sending distress signal to Friday now. … Friday asks if Doctor Banner should be alerted to prepare the medical bay for emergency surgery.“  
Fuck. That word; surgery. White tiles, the smell of antiseptics, needles on a tablet, too bright too cold.  
„No, no no no no, no surgery, thanks very much, I'll be fine, just – just get me home, Karen. Dad'll fix this later. I'll start healing in an hour anyway, bleeding will stop in a minute.“  
„The bleeding isn't your biggest problem, Peter. A grace wound is as much a burn as it is a shot hole. You lack flesh and tissue beneath the skin, your veins have been literally torn apart, and as they will slacken with released pressure, the blood loss will increase dangerously within the next four minutes, not to count the sepsis that will set in within a day if left untreated.“  
„Fuck,“ he whispered and sagged back onto the hard concrete, holding his leg high up until his muscles were screaming to stop. The sky swam far above him, a brilliant, cloudy blue, sun and shade washing over him in turns, white shapes bleeding into one another to drift apart again. Where did they go, to what destination did the wind blow them so hastily?  
Distantly Peter noticed that the lightness was getting worse, that he was giddy and in less pain than expected. Shock, then. The pain would slam back into reality later. Jesus, he really had fucked up this time.  
  
When two metal figures descended on his fizzy vision, he waved smiling, grinning like a drunkard out of sheer relief. They were robots, not suits, part of the Iron Legion. One to carry him, one to protect the both of them.  
„Heyyy guys! Thanks for the lift, 'm gonna be fine, I swear, Tony'll scrub you guys clean after I bleed all over you. I'm sorry. Kay? I'm really fucking – oooh ouch fuck shit ouchhh!“  
Gravity sagged away beneath him as the city grew small like playthings, a board for children to move cars around on. It was so, so tempting to pull up his mask and breathe in the fresh air, smell the summer giving way to fall. Falling, falling. Oh god, this was deep, he was so fucking high up, how did this happen, how –  
„Breathe, Peter, you will be home shortly,“ Karen interrupted his scared thoughts in a calming voice that indicated that Friday had already alerted Tony, no doubt in that, because Peter was bleeding heavily and ready to throw up. The mask had to come off. Now.  
He tore it off seconds before the robots touched the balcony outside the lounge on third top floor. It fell from his cold fingers as he stumbled into the warm room shivering, freezing to his core, a cold deeper than the worst of New York's winter settled into his bones, there to stay.  
„Welcome home, young Master Stark. You are bleeding on the carpet. Doctor Banner and Boss are in Conference room number four.“ On the one hand, it was a comfort that Friday still sounded so utterly unfazed by his injury, on the other hand it made the resistance so much heavier. Tony was busy, he had no time for his dumb son who had gotten himself injured again, gods, how had that happened? Why hadn't he reacted faster, dodged, webbed them up and left as usual?  
„Th-thanks, Friday,“ he hitched and only noticed his nerves giving away to tears when he realized just how unable to move he really was. „What time is it? Can I – could you get me something to bind the leg with? Just until Dad isn't so busy anymore?“  
„Master Stark,“ she said so very gently, „Your heartrate is way too high and you are panicking. I am sorry, but this requires me to override your request to be left alone. Sit down, put the leg up, alerting Mister Stark now.“  
  
Honestly, what could he have done but do as told? Peter sank to the floor and propped his injured leg up on the glass table in front of the TV, and while the two Iron Legion robots took flight again, he just focused on not throwing up on the carpet on top of getting it stained. Compared to the naked concrete of the roof top earlier, this was an improvement, but still, it sucked so much. Each breath he drew seemed to worsen the headache from his senses that alerted him to _danger danger danger_ which, yeah, no shit, thanks a lot, he hadn't noticed. Sadly, a bullet wound was nothing he could dodge and run from.  
When Doctor Banner jogged into the lounge, followed by Tony himself, Peter immediately tried to at least sit up, which apparently wasn't happening.  
„Ughhh, ouch, nope, hi there Doctor Banner! I'm sorry, I'm so terribly sorry, I'd sit up and – hug you or something for coming – you were busy, I didn't plan on getting shot, I swear – Jesus fuck why are the Rogues in our living room?!“ Behind Tony a whole bunch of people filtered into the large room, all of whom he recognized from his childhood hero worship that had ended with Berlin. Period. The realization that Captain America was only human after all, however, and therefore sometimes made decisions as stupid as all grown-ups did hadn't hit him as hard as his own Dad being traumatized by his actions. It didn't matter that this particular bit of family history had only come out later. And come hell or high water, Peter had some things to throw into that stupid bearded face. The surprise and concern sitting there right sure hadn't showed when the good Captain had embedded his shield in Tony's breast plate.  
  
„Peter, calm down, you gotta lie low, buddy,“ Tony tried to subdue him, but he wasn't having any of it. His wide, frightened eyes were enough to kick any son into a fit.  
„Nope, he hurt you, Dad, he left you to die in bloody Siberia in the middle of winter. Just a kid from Brooklyn my ass! Newsflash, Captain Rogers: if my Dad would have wanted to finish you off for good, he would have. One blow and you and Sergeant Barnes would have been done for. You got any idea what kind of firepower he has in his suits? He just wanted to bring you homOOOWWW!“  
„Shush, Peter, I'm sorry, but we need to stop the blood loss,“ Doctor Banner explained evenly as if Peter weren't struggling to get up just to punch Captain America in the face. Maybe he was irrational from the pain and the shock because his Dad, his father whom he only had met three years ago, wore exactly the same expression as Peter had after receiving the news just after the airport disaster. The suit had been blown to pieces and the arc reactor reduced to nothing but shards under the Vibranium shield that practically stood as a symbol for all of the USA these days. The naked fear on Tony’s face, the realization that Peter wasn't bullet proof after all, the shock at his exhaustion, the anger – yeah. It had felt like that.  
  
„Bruce?“  
„Working on it. You want to carry him to med-bay?“  
„I could do that,“ Steve interrupted, cautiously stepping forward, but Tony shot him down with such a glare that even he deflated. A dark skinned guy behind the Captain pulled him back gently at the wrist, losing no words but oozing tension. Peter knew right then that they would have a long talk and somehow make up because yeah, he saw it now with the entire team assembled in the lounge. These were the Avengers. He had seen them fighting on TV so often that Peter had lost count, even if he once had been able to list all Avengers Assemble missions off the top of his head. And Tony was lonely, even if he’d rather die than admit to it, there had been too many years of not having to fight on his own anymore for him to turn back to that now. It stung, it did, because he had Peter, always would, Peter who never in this short life had walked away from a friend no matter how shitty the situation. Captain Rogers had.  
„I’d tear Captain America a new one right now if I wasn’t in so much fucking pain. I know you’re probably gonna make up cause the world needs the Avengers, or some shit like that, but I swear to god-“  
„Language, kid,“ Tony stopped him without missing a beat as he lifted Peter into his arms as if he weighed nothing. Steve and Natasha retorted almost into the walls to give him space while the dark-skinned guy that Peter couldn't put a name to and Hawkeye lingered. The latter gave him a look of such pity and understanding that Peter simultaneously wanted to tell him off and ask him what the fuck he was doing on Cap's side if he couldn't stand seeing Tony in such distress.  
  
The next half hour or so passed by in a blur. Somebody got Peter out of his ruined suit without jostling his ankle too much, his senses finally calmed down enough for the adrenaline to fade which left only the terrible pain. Goddammit, getting shot sucked. With a shock he realized that he hadn't even told his Dad yet how it happened, despite that he surely had been asked exactly that loads of times already. His head was still in the clouds, wonderfully muffled by the pain medication that Bruce had given him with a stern glace. The med bay of the Tower had been equipped for super soldiers, spies and assassins. Like him. Up close, the whole Avengers issue hurt a lot more than he wanted to admit and if only for the dark shadows beneath his father's eyes that never seemed to go away.  
  
Peter must have drifted for a while. When he came to, his focus snapping back into itself, he didn’t feel alone. Someone was there, right at his side, but to turn his head was difficult. Heavy, somehow. Must have been the medication.  
„Dad?“ Searching, he tossed and turned in his bed, glad that the room looked nothing like a hospital. It was nice. Flowers and all. His left hand was caught in a warm, calloused palm and a chair scraped across the floor. Tony's face appeared somewhere above him, adorned by an afternoon shadow.  
„Right here, Pete. You're awake, look at that! You were out of it for a bit, gave us a right scare. Your old man worries, you know?“ For all his hidden fear, Tony was still smiling. A crooked smile that looked a little pale, so Peter tried to smile for him, too, before he remembered wanting to punch Captain America in the face.  
„Ohhh boy, what the hell… the others still here? You okay?“ Tony grimaced and gave a small nod, accompanied by that trademark shrug of his.  
„Yeah, they're in the kitchen, wolfing down my entire fridge, I guess. But I'm okay now.“  
„I‘m sorry, Dad, I really really am, never gonna get shot again, I swear, it sucks so much. Hurts. There was a bunch of car thieves, dicks, all of them, thought I had them cornered. 'S only one of'em first, kind of multiplied once I tracked his hidey hole down. Shoulda told you, but you had this big scary meeting that you've been talking 'bout for weeks. Didn't wanna bother you.“  
  
„Jesus, kid,“ Tony sighed and scrubbed his eyes, his expression somehow fond, exasperated and terribly worried all at once. He never let go of Peter's hand. „Okay, here's the tea: you never bother me. Especially not if you're bleeding and can't stand anymore. If Karen tells you it'd be wiser to call me, she's probably right. I might be in the middle of some important grown-up bullshit, but I'd rather get you home safely than have you trying to treat a bullet wound, or literally anything else, on your own. Alright?“  
Peter imagined him getting hurt, Siberia all over again, the fear, the wait for somebody to pull him out. It was bound to happen sometime in the future no matter what they did; Tony was Iron Man and always would be, the world needed him, because obviously, Iron Man was the strongest and best Avenger of them all. So Peter nodded, releasing a deep breath, as his focus drifted to the milky glass door. His heightened hearing sense easily made out a woman speaking to Doctor Banner just outside, and while he couldn't drown it out, he didn't strain to understand their words either.  
  
God, his head ached. Every heartbeat resonated down into his injured leg, as if someone had misplaced his heart in the process of stitching him back together.  
„Fine, no more getting shot. And who deals with those idiots now? Stealing cars, that's low. Traffic in New York. 'S stupid.“ Tony ruffled his hair which really was just an attempt at hiding his suspiciously shiny eyes, but Peter understood, he felt ready to fall straight back asleep himself.  
„The FBI has been tipped the coordinates by an anonymous guy who would rather spend the rest of the week in med bay with his reckless, brave son than deal with the authorities. They're so slow sometimes.“  
„Terrible,“ he agreed and yawned, his head lolled to his father's side and for once, he didn't care about the inevitable fallout with Aunt May. The pain medication was still a pleasant dampener on reality, a merciful out that he'd take gladly. „Dunno what they'd do without us, honestly… Dad?“  
„Mhh?“  
„You staying?“  
The door opened just the slightest bit, light from the outer world fell onto the wooden floor in a white stripe that made Peter wince. Tony shook his head no to whomever asked to enter quietly, and a second later, they were blissfully alone again.  
„Of course I am, kid. Get some rest, afterwards Bruce'll cook some Indian curry for all of us.“  
More talking, Peter thought. More tense conversations, more trying to forgive terrible mistakes and stupid decisions. Grown-ups. But first, sleep. He let himself be pulled under by the heaviness in his limbs, not once slipping his right hand free from his father's warm grasp. They would be fine.


End file.
